The marina was a study in contrasts—an oasis of opulence nestled against the serene backdrop of Saint Martin’s turquoise waters. Yacht hulls gleamed in the afternoon light, their polished surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the sun. Sailboats swayed lazily at their docks, their white sails a stark contrast to the deep blue of the ocean. It was paradise, or at least, it looked like it.
Addison stood by the railing, trying to ignore the clammy feeling creeping up her neck. She had been to marinas before—mostly back home in the States—and they always had the same sterile, almost too-perfect quality to them. The polished stone walkways, the glint of expensive watches, and the hushed conversations that only seemed to matter in this world of exclusivity.
But today, this marina felt different.
